Two to Five Seconds
by chibi-veneficus
Summary: MovieVerse: It began when Ratchet just happened to be in the same area with Sam when he invoked the Five Seconds Rule. Laughter followed. Now: Bluestreak discovers, and is confused by, food idioms. Epps just wants to be somewhere else far, far away.
1. Ratchet

So I was logging into my e-mail account and saw an article on the 'Five Second Rule'. This immediately popped into my head. I hope you all enjoy the randomness.

health./ fitness/ articlepage.aspx?cp -documentid 100151019 --here's the url if you want to read the article. You know the drill with the spaces.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Transformers. As simple as that.

* * *

"I call five second rule!"

Ratchet looked behind him just in time to see Sam lunge for something that had fallen to the gritty concrete, dust it off, and plop it into his mouth. Mikaela, who was sitting besides him at the plastic patio table, just rolled her eyes before biting into her sandwich.

The medic stopped his work on the malfunctioning door to ponder this new development. While he was still relatively new on the tiny blue planet third from the sun, he knew enough on human biology that eating food from off of the floor wasn't exactly a healthy habit to develop. An innumerable amount of bacteria and other nasty microbes thrived on grimy surfaces, especially on the ground they treaded on. The only thing standing between their health and their immediate death from a foreign invader was their immune system. And said immune system was directly connected to their eating habits.

_So why risk deactivation for such a tiny morsel of food?_ He pondered some more. Unable to get an adequate answer from his databanks, Ratchet decided that the door could wait and made his way to the young humans.

"Hey Ratch'. What's up?" Sam asked from his seat. He seemed to be in the process of dissecting another one of those black round things and licking the white stuff in-between the wafers off first. Mikaela merely looked on in question since her mouth was full.

He kneeled down to put less ease on their necks and preformed a scan on the male to see if the contaminated food was causing any trouble. So far, everything appeared to be functioning but who knew what would happen within the next ten minutes. "Samuel, why did you eat that food off of the floor?" The medic said straight out, as blunt as always.

The human looked a little taken aback and looked at his table partner in question. She only shrugged her shoulders though there was an amused smile starting to appear on her face. "Well, it would have been a waste just to leave it there. Plus, I called the five second rule." He answered after turning back to face him.

"Five second rule?" Ah, yes. He remembered the male saying that before retrieving the wayward object.

"Uh, yeah. You have five seconds to pick up food from the floor before it's 'irretrievable'."

"Two for wet, five for dry," Mikaela helpfully inputted though all it did was confuse the medic more.

"But that makes no sense. As soon as an object touches another, bacteria is immediately traded," argued Ratchet. "Such a silly rule cannot possible be effective with food."

Sam sheepishly rubbed his head while Mikaela tried unsuccessfully to hide giggles behind her sandwich. "Well…it's really more of an excuse when you put it that way. It's like getting permission to eat off the floor when there's someone else around. We know we're not _technical_ suppose to do it."

"So why do you do it? Your health is in jeopardy whenever you partake food in such a manner."

"Think of it like this," the female said after while since her boyfriend appeared to be stumped for words, "when you drop an energon goodie, don't you still eat it after getting it back?" Sam grinned and gave her a grateful thumbs-up.

"Yes, but we usually aren't in danger of getting 'sick' afterwards. Only if we drink a bad batch of energon is there risk of deactivation from fuel poisoning."

She seemed to deflate a little after that but just as soon puffed back up. "Well, there's no real harm in doing it or else the human race would of died off eons ago. And it's not like we go around eating _everything_ we find on the floor. Just the stuff we know where it's been." The first part may have been a bit of an overstatement but it did get her point across.

Ratchet merely arched a metal brow. "Even if you're immune systems are capable of handling such treatment, please reframe from indulging that habit around the base. I don't want you randomly 'keeling over' on me and adding to my work."

Now Sam was trying to hold in his own laughter. "Don't worry, Ratchet," he said with laughter escaping between the words, "as far as we know, nobody has ever gotten sick by using the five second rule."

"Then it would just be my luck that _I_ have to fix you when it happens for the first time," he mumbled as he stood back up and went back to trying to fix the glitch in the door control. He resolutely ignored the muffed laughter coming from their direction and swore to himself that he'd never understand the human thought process.


	2. Bumblebee

This thing just kinda spawned itself. Takes about two months after the first chapter.

And let this be a lesson to you not to eat mysterious pudding-like substances your best friend's little seven year-old sister made. Just don't.

**Disclaimer:** Still don't own them. Miles random little sister is mine though. Unless, of course, she actually exists and I'm unaware of it.

* * *

When Bumblebee had first landed on the planet called Earth just a little bit over four years ago, the first thing he had noticed was the sheer amount of variety the humans had for everything. They weren't satisfied with just one type of transportation unit; they had to have hundreds of different kinds with different colors with different customizations. There weren't satisfied with just one pair of outer armor (which the scout had later learned were called 'clothes' and they were purely for covering themselves instead of protection most of the time), they had to have different brands in different sizes with so many different designs that the scout had to boggle at it. And then he had looked up what type of fuel they ingested.

By Primus, their _fuel_.

No words in any language Bumblebee had ever come across could accurately describe his astonishment over how they seemed to worship their food. Sure, he had come across other sentient organics on his travels but none of them had ever had such extensive procedures over how to prepare some foliage they had picked out from a field. And that was just _one_ corner of their food pyramid!

So he wasn't to surprised when the friend of his charge brought a big bowl of…something with him to their few and far between 'male bonding sessions', as Miles had dubbed it much to Sam's chagrin, down by the lake. They usually brought food with them to eat while they would catch up about this and that. What did surprise him was his charge's look of disgust when he caught a glimpse of what was in it.

"What the hell is _that_, Miles?!" Sam exclaimed as his face screwed up into a most interesting expression. He made a cross with his fingers and started inching away from whatever was in the bowl.

"Ah, come on dude. My little sister made it," Miles replied sheepishly. "She commanded me to share some with you and you know I never go against her orders. Besides, it actually isn't that bad…it only _looks_ like a dog upchucked on a pile of poop."

"Well, since you put it so eloquently…" his charge stated sarcastically and then took another look at the mysterious substance. "Ok, seriously, what was it suppose to be?"

The other male placed the bowl on Bumblebee's hood, innocent little Camero that he was, while answering to the best of his knowledge. "Some sort of pudding I think. I'm not to sure."

"And you want me to try it?"

"I have to get a picture of you eating it. Sis's orders."

Sam groaned while face palming. Why did his friend have to do everything his younger sibling asked him to? "I don't know why I continue to be your friend." He grumbled out while snagging up the offered spoon and plunging it into the revolting mass held within the bowl. He eyed the quivering stuff like it was about to eat his hand off.

Miles rolled his eyes as he took out his cell phone, searching for the camera feature. "Everyone knows that you're secretly in love with me and are just using Mikeala as a front. Now hurry up and take a bite. The faster you get it done, the faster it will all be over, trust me."

Bumblebee watched in amusement as Sam sneered at his friend first and then at the spoon as if hoping it would catch on fire. He could tell that it went against all of his charge's instincts to shove it into his mouth and swallow.

* * *

Bumblebee winced as he heard his charge purge his stomach again in the small restroom that was just outside the base's human sized recreational room. After taking that initial bite, Sam had actually had some more since, apparently, it did taste better then it looked. Now, three hours later, the scout could easily tell that Sam regretted it. A lot. And with a passion.

"I'm…goin' ta…kill h'm…" Bumblebee's audios picked up after Sam had finished his latest purging. "Slowly…and with…urg…a rusty pick axe…"

Not liking the murderous intents his charge's thoughts were turning to, Bumblebee searched through the local stations for some appt lyrics. "_Are you okay? I wanna know, are you okay?_"

The yellow scout was about to break down the door when it took longer the three minutes for Sam to answer. "I'z fine…just have some…urg, it tastes disgusting…food poisoning…ahrrrrg…" He coughed some more but luckily didn't start the purging process again. "I'll be…good az new…in hour…or two…"

As much as Bumblebee would have liked to place faith in his charge's knowledge on his body's cleansing methods, he decided asking for Ratchet's opinion wouldn't hurt much. _:Ratchet? You got a minute?:_

A slight pause before the medic responded in fine grumpy form. _:What is it, Bumblebee? I'm kinda busy over here:_

_:It won't take to long, I promise: _He sent back. _:It's just that Sam has ingested some questionable food and I was wondering how much longer his body will continue to purge itself to get rid of the contamination:_

There was a longer pause and Bumblebee was afraid the medic had opted to ignore him before he texted back. _:There wasn't any mention of a 'Five Second Rule', was there?:_ Though text usually didn't carry across feelings to well, the scout could very well sense the anger radiating off of it.

_:…I don't believe so…:_ He responded slowly. What was a 'Five Second Rule'? _:His friend's younger family member created a debatable substance and requested that Sam eat some:_

_:And being the stupid glitch that he is, he did:_

_:Ah, well, yes:_

Another pause. _:If the food poisoning isn't too serious, he'll be fine in a few hours. Make sure he drinks some liquids afterwards:_

_:Thanks Ratchet:_ Bumblebee gratefully texted back, happy that he charge wasn't in immediate danger of deactivation.

_:Oh, and make sure to tell him 'Listen to me next time, slagger' for me when he's well enough to understand it:_

_:…Ok…?:_

_:Good. Ratchet out:_

Bumblebee turned his attention back to the door currently sheltering his suffering charge, pleased to note that no further purging had occurred while he was conversing with Ratchet. Hopefully his human would be able to translate that cryptic message for him after he finally stopped leaning over the porcelain waste receptacle.


	3. Ironhide

Wow, I must admit I didn't think this little random fic spawned in half and hour would go this far xD Thank you all for your reviews since I'm doing this for you guys that asked for more. I'm pretty sure you didn't expect this though. This chapter could, or could not, take a week before, or after, the last chapter.

By the way, I stole Sarah's attitude from my grandmother. Never mess with her when she's cooking for a truckload of guys.

(And if Optimus is appearing in the next chapter, I'm kinda in a rut for ideas. All I have is Keller, coffee, and complaining. Hint hint)

**Disclaimer:** Surprise! Still don't own them.

* * *

Ironhide would be the first mech to tell you that he was old, even for his kind, and had been around the galaxy more then a couple of times. He had seen stars reach the end of their life with spectacular blasts of light, had seen worlds destroyed in massive explosions (a few by his own hands), and had seen miracles happen when all hope had been lost. He prided himself in being one of the most experienced mechs still active and thought that nothing short of Primus suddenly appearing before his being could surprise him.

And then he had landed on Earth and witnessed the Autobot's aged old foe fall to a _tiny_ _organic_ _being's hands_. Suffice to say, he hadn't expected that but the shock wore off faster than expected and he soon found himself being assigned guardian to Caption William Lennox and his family unit. This suited him just find since he found himself on base more often than not and there was never a dull moment with a member of the Lennox family around.

Today was no exception.

"Sarah Lennox, what the Pit are you doing?"

"Ironhide? Hey, what are you - GIVE THAT BACK RIGHT NOW!"

The weapon specialist carefully held the sharp blade in-between two well-armored fingers and well out of reach of her tiny, fragile, organic hands. Sam and Mikaela, who had themselves been involved in tasks that endangered limbs, thankfully stopped to watch the spectacle.

"Why do you seem so fixated on trying to chop off one of your own digits?" He bluntly asked while glaring at the knife as if it had done some great, personal misdeed to him. Out of the corner of his optic he could see Bumblebee's charges cover their mouths to try and hold back laughter. His charge's femme slapped one of her hands over her eyes while sighing irritably.

"I wasn't trying to mutilate myself, Ironhide," she said through gritted teeth. She continued on as if she was talking to a rather dim protoform. "I was chopping up the garlic for the rice. It's called _cooking._"

He immediately looked up the unfamiliar term and was assaulted with images and videos of more organics putting voluntary risk to their extremities. _It's amazing that they've gotten this far if they require so much preparation for fuel_, Ironhide thought while scrolling through lists of websites that were only about food and how to cook it. The sheer amount was staggering.

"Ahem." His optics immediately trained back on Sarah who now had one hand raised with palm facing outward. "My knife, if you'd please?"

"If you continue to use this, there's an 11.008 percent chance that you'll slice one of your fingers off," Ironhide responded still holding the knife well out of organic reach.

"And I will deal with that when the time comes," she irritably snapped back, other hand not raised in the air being placed on her hip, "and I will gladly allow you to say 'I told you so' if it does, but right now I have to two hours to finish this meal or be eaten alive by rabid men being controlled by their stomachs."

"They wouldn't actually do that, would they?" Appalled, Ironhide actually took a step away.

The femme rolled her eyes in exasperation. "It was a figure of speech, Ironhide. Humans don't eat other humans."

"Except some tribes in Africa," Sam unhelpfully inputted but was shushed immediately by Mikaela's hand slapping across his mouth. "Not helping!" She hissed out.

"_Anyway_," Sarah gritted out, hand still held imploringly in the air, "I would much appreciate it if you'd give me back my knife. The food won't cook itself."

Ironhide took a moment to ponder his choices. He could, of course, comply with her request and give the knife back which could result in her having fewer digits then before. He could either destroy or take the knife away in which he'd get an audio full of furious femme and be coldly ignored for the next few weeks. Or there was another option…

"Very well," he said while carefully lowering his hand holding the knife. However, he stopped just outside organic reaching distance. "But I will remain here and watch over your activities to make sure you do not injure yourself."

"I am not a child Ironhide!"

"Do you want your knife back or not?"

Sarah grumbled out an unintelligible reply looking slightly murderous at the Autobot. Mikaela had removed her hand from Sam's mouth and they were both once again trying to hold in giggles at the exchange.

"Fine, you can stay," Sarah finally snapped out, "but so help me, if you start hovering over my shoulder, you will find that knife in-between your optics." She turned her glare onto the teenagers who immediately stopped laughing. "Sam, I didn't tell you to stop peeling those potatoes! Mikaela, who's watching that pan if you're looking over here? It's going to burn if you don't stir it!" Looking guilty, the two teens went back to their assigned tasks.

Ironhide raised an impressed brow as he finally handed the blade back to the femme. "You'd make an imposing drill sergeant one day."

"I've had plenty of practice on my husband," she replied calmly as she checked the knife for any scruffs. "Now since you're going to be hanging out around here for the next two hours, you've just volunteered yourself as kitchen drudge."

"…what?"

"You heard me. Go empty that trash can."

* * *

Will stopped and stared at the spectacle before him. After finally finishing up all the paperwork that had accumulated on his desk in a disturbingly short amount of time, he had decided to check in on his wife and steal some tidbits of food while he was at it. He didn't, however, expect to see the sight of Ironhide, tough old mech with more of an arsenal then a third-world country, to be grumblingly under his breathe (or whatever was the equivalent to giant alien robots) while carefully stirring a pot under the watchful gaze of his wife and two snickering teenagers.

He knew his wife had a way with words, but _damn…_

He walked back the way he came, carefully making sure not to draw attention to himself before heading in the direction he had last seen Epps. Knowing the sergeant, he would have a video camera on his person and he planned to use that to get the best blackmailing material this side of the century.


	4. Optimus Prime

HAY GUYS. Yeah, this thing's still alive. I'll only say that Prime and Keller were being glitches (started this out THREE different times and I'm still not quite pleased with it and it came out totally different than what I had first imagined but oh well) and college came out of left field like WOAH, smacking me silly.

And I would like to say a great big thanks to everyone who threw out ideas *hands out cookies*. If you could possible throw out some more I would be eternally grateful (I already have Jazz and Sideswipe mostly finish but anyone else is fair game). :3

Oh, a quick FYI: Epps snuck in here and brought with him the uncredited Bald Ranger Team Member from the movie (I'll get a link to a picture of him in my profile). I have given him the name Largo Miller. Just so you're not confused when you get to the bottom %D

Off to college I go! *prances off*

**Disclaimer:** Nope. No own. Except Bald Ranger's name.

* * *

When Optimus Prime walked into the base refueling area before the usual morning rush, he wasn't surprised to see Defense Secretary Keller in the solitude. While the Secretary didn't regularly stay at the unofficial Autobot Base he had expressively stated a few days ago that not all government meetings had to be done in person and that teleconferences work just as well as the real thing and that he needed a vacation from all this madness, damn it all. He was sitting at one of the human sized tables placed on top of a mech sized table, scowling down into his steaming caffeinated beverage, lost in his thoughts.

"Good morning, Optimus Prime," Keller greeted politely when he took notice to the mech's presence.

"And to you, Secretary Keller," Prime said in turn with a nod as he went over to the energon dispenser fastened to the wall. He filled a cube and sat down at the table Keller was sitting on. "Has the discussions been going well?"

The human grimaced. "'Not well' is more of an apt description," he said, glowering at his coffee now. "Nobody will decide on what to do. They're all too worried about getting involved even if the choice has already been taken out of their hands."

Optimus rumbled in unease. "While I do not blame them for their caution, it is foolish of them to remain completely static in their decisions. It's only a matter of time before more Decepticons appear. We will have no choice but to take action."

"And they just can't seem to wrap their minds around that fact," Keller scowled again and took a sip of the slowly cooling coffee. He contorted his face in disgust before spitting the beverage back into the container. "And I swear there's something wrong with the coffee on this base!"

"Something wrong?" Optimus asked, startled at the outburst.

"Yes," Keller grunted out as he stood up from his seat, walking towards the stairs that lead to the ground floor, "something wrong. Whenever I pour myself a cup of coffee here it's always abysmally bad." Optimus curiously watched as the human quickly descended and made a beeline for the coffeemakers. After placing the cup of bad coffee down he grabbed the nearest half full contain and held it up, looking at it through the overhead lights.

"I knew it," the human said to himself as he twirled the remaining brew around.

Optimus set his cube down and leaned in to get a better look. He could just barely see some type of solid substance clinging stubbornly to the bottom of the pot while the remaining liquid flowed around it. "What is that?" He asked in mild surprise.

"It's coffee sludge," Keller answered as he tried to wash said substance away with fiery water. "It's when someone leaves the burner on and boils down the remaining coffee. It tastes absolutely terrible so I don't know why some people, instead of just brewing another pot, will add water to it and drink that instead."

The large mech grimaced at the thought. If it was anything like energon dregs than he could certainly sympathize with the Secretary.

Coffeepot now sufficiently clean enough, Keller placed it back on the burner and traded out the coffee filter for a new one. He paused though just before adding the crushed beans, cocking his head to the side as a thought came to him.

"You know, it might just be my irritation getting the best of me," the Secretary said and began to root around the cupboards, "but I feel like being a bit immature for a moment." He picked out a large bag from its fellows and pulled it out, using the scoop already in it to take out a fair amount of the fine white grain inside. He poured it onto the filter, adding the coffee grounds and mixing them together till the brown grounds complete overshadowed the other grains.

"Do I even want to know?" Amused at his colleague's actions, Optimus looked on as Keller closed the filter basket with the concoction inside. A moment later the power switch was flipped and the coffeemaker started to happily brew away.

"Probably not," was the answer given. Keller turned away with a tiny smirk on his face before it was smoothed over into a neutral façade. One could still sense the waves of satisfaction radiating from him, however. "Now, I believe it's about time I must leave to get ready for a teleconference. If you'll excuse me, Prime."

"Of course." Still greatly amused, Optimus watched him leave as if he had not just spiked the coffee with an unhealthy dose of salt. He shook his head in disbelief, finishing up his cube of energon before he too left the room to get back to a dreary pile of work that needed to be done. He made a mental note to keep an extra audio out for the fallout. After all, one had to take their entertainment where one could get it.

* * *

The coffee was not fit for human consumption.

Unfortunately, Epps did not know this fact before pouring himself a cup and swinging it back. As soon as the hot liquid made contact with his taste buds, it immediately found itself flying through the air, splattering upon many nearby surfaces as well as persons.

"Hey, Epps, what the hell, man?!"

The black tech sergeant merely sputtered, unable to form an apology while his tongue tried to shrivel up. He finally managed to grab a water bottle from the fridge, hastily opening it to pour all over his abused tongue. The awful, lingering taste now satisfactorily washed away to manageable levels, he turned to his fellow ranger who was busy wiping down his coffee stained front.

"Sorry 'bout that, man," Epps offered along with a paper towel. The other ranger rolled his eyes before snagging the towel away to mop fruitlessly at his shirt.

"Care to share why you decided that I needed a shower?" Largo inquired, frowning down at his specked shirt. Those stains were never going to come out with what the base supplied as laundry detergent.

Epps shrugged, pointing an accusing finger at the half-crushed coffee cup sitting innocently on the counter. "I honestly had no intention of doin' such a thing, Miller man. Somethin's wrong with the coffee cause it tastes worse th'n usual."

"It can't be _that_ bad," Largo stated and grabbed the abused cup, taking a sip before Epps could stop him. A split second later found him mimicking his comrade's earlier actions and now both sported lovely new coffee stains on their shirts. Largo stared in astonishment at the remaining brew in the cup.

"That was…just…so…"

"Yeah."

A moment of silence passed.

"We should do something with it," Epps suddenly stated and Largo looked up, startled. A bad feeling slowly bloomed along with his fellow ranger's mischievous grin. "Isn't the SecDef currently on base?"


	5. Jazz

You guys are so awesome that I am unable to properly type up the words to describe it accurately. So I give you this virtual cake instead. *hands out slices* Thank you so much for all of your suggestions and comments; I will be putting them to good use in due time and there's always room for more :3

For now, I give you Jazz (who is somehow alive. I'll leave it up to you how that's possible) and Maggie, who is so not amused and whose appearance is based off of her novel interpretation.

**Disclaimer: **I own neither the Transformers nor any "Real Men of Genius" commercials. But they sure are fun to play with.

* * *

It happened when Maggie was deep in concentration trying to decipher a bit of tricky code her superiors had tossed her way. She had been dutifully typing away, ignoring the various beepings of a video game Glen was playing on his terminal next to her, when the overhead, base wide speakers suddenly screeched loudly on. After nearly jumping out of her skin, Maggie temporarily put her work aside to listen to the, undoubtedly, important announcement.

"**The Jazzmeister presents: Real Femmes of Genius."**

_Real Femmes of GeeeeniuUUS!_

Maggie vaguely felt her eyes trying to escape their sockets. Mouth slowly gaping open, she turned to look at her table mate and found a mirror image of her surprise reflected on his face.

"**Today we salute you, Miss Too Hot Computer Techie."**

_Miss Too Hot Compuuuteeer TechiiieEE!_

Glen slowly shrugged his shoulders while his mouth continued to hang open. Prying her eyes from him, she glanced around the room and noticed that everyone had stopped in their tracks and were now gazing at the protruding loudspeakers in surprise.

"**You defied the odds with your green dyed keratin filaments, your carbon-based olfactory ornament, and your too short leg armor. You still managed to get a mech's job in a mech's world."**

_She's too hot to touch!_

She felt a blush rise angrily to her cheeks as she realized that the plagiarized song was actually about _her._ The stares aimed at the loudspeakers just moments before were suddenly digging into her back with flabbergasted amusement. She defiantly glared back though the impact was slightly lessened due to her redden face.

"**While everyone else said that it couldn't be possible, your idea of a DNA based computer was actually true. Well, mostly. At least the extraterrestrials that landed in your backyard helped prove your crazy theory right. Mostly."**

_We don't have that protein stuff!_

Maggie buried her mortified expression in her hands. She was never going to live this down. Glen was already trying to stifle his giggles to little success while he fumbled around for the recording option on his computer.

"**Decoding Decepticon ciphers, helping write Autobot firewalls, proving to your higher-ups that yes, you are actually smarter than they are; if someone names it, you can accomplish it in high heels."**

_Could you please transfer Simmons to AntarcticaAAH?_

Sniggers erupted from all sides while one brave soul actually shouted 'Please do!' into the room. Maggie groaned into her hands. Yep, this wasn't going to die down anytime soon. At least she knew who to blame if she died from embarrassment.

"**So crack open a container of a greatly deserved intoxicating human high-grade beverage, oh Queen of the Keyboard. You give all the human males a piece to look at while you manage to do all their work, and yours, even on your birthday."**

_Oh, happy biiiirthdaaaay to yoouuUUUU!_

Oh God. Today _was_ her birthday now that she thought about it. How in the world did she manage to forget that little factoid?

"**Jazzmeister productions, Autobot saboteur. Humboldt, Nevada."**

Maggie peeked out from behind the shield her hands had erected to the grins of every coworker in the room. One fellow techie began clapping, shouting out birthday greetings which soon avalanched into a cascade of applause and 'happy birthdays' from everyone. Next to her, Glen was crowing his victory that he had been able to get the last few strands of the odd birthday song safely recorded onto his computer. She made a mental note to delete it tomorrow; after all, she had a mech to hunt down and kill that night.


	6. Hot Rod

Thank you all for the reviews last chapter! I'm so glad you all enjoyed Jazz's time in the spot light. And don't worry, you'll find out what happens to him when Prowl is reading over the report for that incident (along with some others.) FUN TIMES :D

I'm still wide open for ideas/prompts/anything. You name it, I'll try to write it up. Just let it be known that I'm not the fastest of writers if you haven't guessed that already.

This is for TFSTARFIRE, who requested Hot Rod (who was a lot harder to write for then I had originally thought), and for Carmilla DeWinter, who suggested a diet prompt (and who is a genius for suggesting it.) I, personally, can't see a Cybertronian understand the concept of a diet. I mean, they only get over energized if they ingest to much energon, they don't gain extra armor or some such. How weird would it be if they actually did?

With all that said, ENJOY!

**Disclaimer:** I still don't own.

* * *

The first indication that she had acquired company was when her light was blocked off by a large silhouette. The second was when it said, "I just don't understand."

Mikaela, taking inventory of some of the smaller medical items that had been shipped in that day for Ratchet, paused in her work to glance up at the unfamiliar mech looming down on her. Confirming that she was the target of the seemingly random statement after a quick glance around the empty room, she offered up a tentative, "Don't understand…what?"

"Why you're doing this to yourself!" He almost shouted and made a vague gesture at her. "I've only been on Earth for barely a month so I'm no expert on you humans but I just can't make sense of your deliberate behavior. At the risk of sounding like Prowl, it's completely illogical!"

"Ok then," the human said, one eyebrow up in polite puzzlement, "maybe I can help you understand if I knew what you're talking about in the first place, mister…?"

"Mister?" The mech copied her look in his own bewildered as he tried to place the noun. Understanding dawn on his face after another second and he supplied his name readily. "Oh, it's Hot Rod."

"Hot Rod." She confirmed and asked again. "What is it you don't understand?"

"Your daily fuel consumption," the mech, now dubbed Hot Rod, stated.

Mikaela blinked. "My what?"

"Your daily fuel consumption!" He huffed out, blasting a waft of hot air in her direction in doing so. "I've noticed that you not only consume a lesser amount then what the other humans have for morning and evening refuels, you afternoon refuel is barely nonexistent! You _must_ know that your kind needs to have three balanced refuels every solar cycle to maintain your systems in their best condition. Why are you intentionally running yourself at a lower rate then the accepted norm?"

It took a moment for Mikaela to translate the explanation into something she could understand but when if finally registered her other brow rose to meet its twin. "You mean you're worried about my _diet_?" She asked, amusement coloring her voice. "Don't worry about it, Hot Rod. It's just that I've gained a little weight recently and I'm just trying to take it off again."

This answer clearly didn't please him. "What does weight have to do with this?" Hot Rod asked and let out a frustrated rumble. "If you're worried about your mass then why don't you just wear lighter clothing? Why starve yourself?"

Mikaela shook her head in knowing exasperation. Ratchet had reacted the exact same way when he had confronted her about her diet a few days before and though he didn't harass her about it after a thorough explanation, she still caught him performing scans from time to time. "It's a human health thing. You see, weight has some to do with how healthy a human being is. If a human has too much weight it can lead to complications, that same with too little. We're a balancing act that needs constant adjustment." She half shrugged her shoulders. "Even though I've gained only a bit of weight that won't really affect my health too much, I would still feel better if I lost it. My pants have been getting a little tight."

Hot Rod let out another frustrated rumble, confusion still clearly etched onto his face. "What is with you organics and your appearances? So what if you're a little bit heavier compared to others' standards; I still think it's stupid you should compromise your health because of it."

"Well, as much as I appreciate your concern-" She paused, eyes suddenly narrowing as something caught her attention in the previous sentence. "Wait, did you just call me fat?"

Optics shuttering in surprise at the sudden question, Hot Rod thought back and cocked his head to the side, unaware of the thin line he now tread. "Well, I guess you could take it that way." And just like that he crossed over onto the wrong side.

Mikaela narrowed her eyes further into slits, frown making an emergence, and reached into her nearby tool box.

* * *

Later on, everyone would agree that seeing Hot Rod with a spanner lodged into his throat was nothing compared to how it messed up his vocal processors. Instead of normal timber they had started to associate with the mech, what came out was a voice one could only label as 'the chipmunk voice'. It was a source of great amusement for not only the humans, but for the mechs as well.

In fact, they hadn't seen Ratchet in such a good mood since he had been able to weld Bumblebee to a wall by the aft after the minibot had somehow sabotaged the medic's arch welder to spray out pink paint. As a testament to how well it entertain him, Ratchet didn't immediately repair the damage to the warrior's vocalizer after he managed to fish out the spanner stating that since the voice change wasn't life threatening, it could wait awhile. Hot Rod, of course, did not enjoy this turn of events.

And when Hot Rod was asked about the circumstances surrounding _how_ the spanner had found its way into his throat, he would merely stare sulkily into space and mumble in falsetto something along the lines of 'Femmes are too fraggin' sensitive'. While this did raise eyebrows and more questions, they let it go soon enough as one of those things that would remain a mystery and enjoyed the entertainment while it lasted.

If anyone noticed how smug Mikaela acted during the whole fiasco, they didn't think to connect her to Hot Rod's predicament.


	7. Wheeljack

Two chapters in one month? I believe it's a record! (nah, it's only because I had this one was my own brainchild and I had it finished before chapter 6 %D;;)

Anyway, my usual slowness aside, thank you all again for the suggestions you've provided! I'm sure I'll be putting some to good use...just not...very fast. In the meantime, more suggestions are always welcomed! And cookies for anyone who can guess which TV show he's talking about at the end.

BTW, has anyone else seen ROTF? _Ravage and Jetfire and Simmons_ **_FTW_**! *exsplodes*

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing except my TF toys *cuddles Ravage*

* * *

"**FIRE IN THE HOLE!"**

That was all the warning Tom Banachek and the rest of the base got before something small but many went _KERSPLASH_ into something filled with liquid. It was followed by a split second of deathly silence as everyone simply froze in place as they registered the voice. Recognition came but not fast enough; their minds, still frozen at the '_ah shi_-' phase, failed to properly work as the sound of a exploding geyser followed by a knee-high tidal wave of something brown and fizzy roared through an open doorway. The wave swept into the hallway where the personnel, still gripped in mind-numbing terror, were easily knocked over and swamped by the mass. It gushed for just a split-second more before ebbing away to coat most of the surrounding rooms and hallways.

Banachek was one of the lucky few that were able to stay steady on his feet during the assault. Leaving the wall he had been leaning on for balance when the wave had tried to tumble him, the former Sector Seven agent wearily assessed the situation that had arisen. He was pleasantly surprised to discover that no one had been seriously injured (most appeared to be nursing aching buttocks and groaning about ruined shoes) and after straightening out his hopelessly stained trouser pants he trudged determinedly towards the epicenter of the chaos intent of finding out what the hell had happened _this_ time.

"Wheeljack!" he barked out as he turned into the room, shoes making sickly sticking/splashing noises against the messy floor. "What did you--" He stopped in this tracks as he caught sight of the lab's insides. "Are those _Mentos wrappers_?"

The engineer cautiously peeked out from behind his homemade blast shielding. "Thomas Banachek! It's good to see you again…circumstances notwithstanding, of course." Ascertaining that the explosive reaction had finished its course, the mech stepped out from his protective barrier and towards the huge tank haphazardly placed on the foam covered table. "And yes, those are, in fact, Mentos wrappers."

The human pinched the bridge of his nose trying to slow the headache that was certain to come whenever he dealt with the aftermaths of Wheeljack's experiments. "Rhetorical, Wheejack. Why, pray tell, did you need so _many?_"

"Well, you see," Wheeljack began animatedly while peering into the depths of the slightly filled tank, "I was browsing your World Wide Web a few weeks ago and came across this interesting footage depicting some youths experimenting with something called 'Diet Coca-Cola' and the Mentos. I was intrigued by the resulting reaction and figured that I'd recreate it myself."

"And you needed ten full boxes of Mentos and an eight hundred gallon tank to do so?"

"I wanted to try it in mech-size, as I have heard some persons dub it. And it's a thousand gallon tank, not eight hundred, Thomas."

Banachek allowed a soft groan to escape his lips. "I don't really care, Wheeljack." He said but paused just a second afterward. "No, wait, I do. How did you manage to get a hold of a tank of that size?"

"I found it in one of the storage warehouses on base."

"And the large quantities of Mentos and Coke?"

"Ebay, of course."

Of course.

Banachek resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands. Wheeljack, noticing the human's blank, controlled stare, stopped in his mental note taking to face him fully. "Aw, it's not that bad, is it? It's not like anyone got hurt over this little experiment this time around, right?" His head-fins flickered and moved about showing his uncertainly.

"No, just bruises and wallets," Banachek sighed out before adopting his usual rigid stance, "but you're not off the hook. The corridors are a mess; why didn't you have your doors fully closed? Ratchet specifically designed them to contain your experiments!"

Wheeljack blinked before guiltily glancing off to the side. "I…err…forgot to?" He said, feeling as if it would go over as well as a lead balloon.

It did. The human leveled a look at the squirming engineer before speaking. "You…forgot. Alright then, not only are you going to have to report this breach of protocol and misuse of government funds to Prowl, you're going to clean up the mess you made."

"That's not too bad."

"As well as having your wifi internet access blocked for a month."

All cheerfulness immediately drained out of Wheeljack. "What? But…!" His head-fins, so often fully extended, slid completely into their slots. Not even a sliver of light escaped. Banachek compared the look to that of a kicked puppy. It didn't garner any sympathy.

"No buts."

"…alright." Wheeljack sighed through his vents before sulkily gazing at a spot on the wall. He looked back after a moment with the closest thing to a pout Banachek had ever seen on a Cybertronian face. "So I'm guessing that I'm not allowed to try to recreate the exploding cupcake frosting from this one television show I saw?"

"_No."_


	8. Cliffjumper

Thank you all for your wonderful reviews again! They never fail to make my day just a little bit better :3 As usual, suggestions/prompts/ideas are always welcomed but take a long time to come into existence.

As for the previous chapter with Wheeljack; yes, he did get the exploding mentos idea from watching Mythbusters *hands out cookies*. He got the exploding cupcake frosting, however, from Family Guy ('Hehe, the secret is in the frosting. But I'll never tell'). Yes, he's one of the few Autobots able to watch it without his processor freezing up in the process xD

I had this mostly written before ROTF came out so that's why Simmons is still (kinda, sorta, not really) working with the 'bots. I believe it was Starfire201 who requested Cliffjumper and Flower K. Owl was the one to suggest bubbles...though I'm pretty sure it wasn't these types of bubbles that were requested 8D;; Anyway, ENJOY!

**Disclaimer:** Uh, that would be a most definite no.

_

* * *

Smaack_

Twitch.

_Smaaack_

Twitch.

_Smaaaack_

Cliffjumper gave another barely concealed twitch as the maddening sound continued to assault his audios. It had been going on for _hours_ now and the red minibot was near the end of his patience - a certifiable miracle that it had even lasted this long, for sure. But then a particularly loud and long and self satisfying sounding _smack_ cracked through the quiet background hum of various machines…and the last self-restraints Cliffjumper had.

"THAT'S IT!" He shouted, standing up suddenly from his terminal where he was dully filling out reports. In doing so he startled the rest of the room's occupants into silence but the infernal noise continued on after a slight pause. He glared about the place looking for the source of his irritation. "Whoever's making that slagging noise _stop it_."

"Or what?"

Cliffjumper whipped around towards the voice, door wings nearly plastered against his back. It was a human, smug and smirking and far to relaxed in his chair as his jaw continued chewing out that noise that was positively driving him up the proverbial wall. He stalked over and loomed the best he was able but the human didn't seem the least bit fazed. In fact, the fragger's smirk grew larger.

"You'll just be a smear on the wall, that's _what_," he sneered out, fingers twitching in time with the smacks.

The human barked out a sharp laugh. "I'd like to see you try, N.B.E.!" was guffawed out in between the chews. "I know that you know that you can't harm a hair on my head, much less any human's. You're going to have to threaten me better then that."

Cliffjumper growled in frustration knowing that what the squishy said was true. Prime had made it very clear that the planet's native inhabitants were not to be harmed in any way since they were sentient and were to be their new allies. He never said anything about liking their rotten little guts, however.

He slammed a hand down just inches away from the human's chair, leaning in close. The human continued to be unfazed, steadily chewing on and on and on now with a raised brow but the smirk still plastered on his face. Cliffjumper resisted the urge to violently smack it off.

Ignoring the various humans trying to discreetly call for aid in the form of another Autobot, Cliffjumper leaned in until his face was just a fraction away from the human's own. He puffed out a gust of hot air from his intakes, watching in satisfaction as the human flinched away even though the smirk didn't drop. "Then how about I make your life miserable? It just so happens that most of this base's paperwork goes through me. I wonder how easy it would be to misplace a sheet or two."

"Kid," the human actually had the gull to call him a kid! A _kid! _The human equivalent of a _youngling!_ Him! "My life has been the definition of the word miserable ever since that stupid, yellow Camaro made planet fall. A bit of misplaced paperwork would be like temporarily misplacing my car keys in the morning. You're going to have to do much better than that."

Cliffjumper, all ready to deliver a scathing reply in response to that, never had a chance to fully formulate his retort. Instead, the words were half choked back as he half dashed backwards on his arms and legs, amazingly not running over anything or anyone in his haste, as something pink started to _stretch_ out of the human's mouth. And he knew it wasn't the human's tongue because he knew that they didn't _blow up like that_.

"Wha-what the frag is _that!?_" The minibot finally managed to choke out after checking his faceplates and confirming that yes, none of the vile stuff had managed to stick itself onto him when he had been inches from the human's face.

The pink sphere, hanging out of the human's lips like some type of sick, bulbous tumor, quivered a moment before exploding. Cliffjumper couldn't look away, his gaze being held solely by the force of revulsion, as he watched as the human calmly licked, _licked!_, the pink goo that had plastered itself all over his lower face back into his mouth. The minibot could safely say that it was the most disgusting, foul thing he had ever seen.

And to make it all the worse, the human was _still smirking!_ "What, don't know what bubblegum is?" He smugly asked beginning to chew again. "I guess they didn't cover that in the 'Welcome to Earth, Suckers 101' pamphlet. I'd be more than _happy_ to educate you in the subject, though, starting with its physical qualities." The human stood up from his chair, moving with deadly intent towards Cliffjumper who was still sprawled out on the floor. The pink thing once again peeked out in preparation to blow up into that sickening sphere.

"NO! No, that's quite alright!" Cliffjumper managed to squeak out while trying to discreetly edge away from the human. At any other time he would have been ashamed of his cowardice - a measly _human_ was making him shake in his plating! Decepticons never got such a pleasure! - but who knew what would happen if that repulsive substance got under his armor and into delicate servos and wiring? He somehow managed to get back onto his feet with only a minimum of fumbling and cautiously began to back away towards the exit. "I just remembered that I'm needed somewhere else right now! Lot's to do around here, you know. Bye now!" And he was off like a shot, nearly tripping over a startled Arcee when he passed her by the doorway. Said femme stared at Cliffjumper's retreating back for a moment before turning back to the room at large.

"Simmons again, huh?" She resignedly asked, already knowing the answering but having to have it confirmed anyway. Most of the room's occupants pointed an accusing finger at the smug human that seemed unfazed at all of the attention. Arcee sighed through her intakes, one hand coming up to cover her optics in annoyance.

"Just what is it going to take for you to stop traumatizing the new arrivals?"

In between the audible chews, Simmons's smirk just grew larger.


	9. Sideswipe

Sorry for the wait guys! RL has been a cruel mistress, not to mention the struggle of trying to keep movie!Sides in character with a slight dash of his G1 self for flavor. That being said, any suggestions for movie!Sunstreaker? I don't want to keep him his sole G1 self but I have absolutely no idea how to go about that. :/

As always, thank you all for the reviews and faves and watches! The warm fuzzies always abound whenever I receive them. :3

This fic is partially brought to you by Vaeru's wonderful fic Juxtaposition, all of you who wanted Sideswipe, a true event at work, and the color 'red.' Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** Maybe in a alternate universe.

* * *

Sideswipe wasn't sure what the slag was going on. One moment the rec room was its usual self, abuzz with quiet activity; the next moment there was a loud shout and a bizarre explosion of motion and cheers and multiple food stuffs hurled about the place by the humans. Sideswipe stayed neatly rooted to the spot as his processors tried to make sense of what was happening. That rebellious little corner in the back of his processor, the one that usually got him into so much trouble, amusingly thought that Prowl's logic chips would have probably short-circuited by now.

Before the warrior got the chance to get his wits about him and quietly wheel unseen backwards out of the room and, by extension, the clearly crazy humans, he was attacked. Well, not attacked _per se_, but, apparently, one of the soldiers had horrendous aim (or perfect. It was all a matter of context, really) and his projectile of choice landed/splattered flawlessly onto Sideswipe's hip with a decent sized 'plop.'

Nearly all of Sideswipe's processors stopped what they were doing as surface tactile sensors narrowed completely down to that one single point on his frame and came back with one overwhelming sensation.

The sensation of utter _disgust_.

In fact, disgusting didn't even being to describe it. He was pretty sure that no word foul enough in Cybertronian, English, or otherwise could even beginning to describe how wholly nauseating and sordid and _squashy_ and a plethora of other adjectives thrown in for good measurement the sensation really was.

His armor, perfect for repelling Decepticon fists, was absolutely useless against it. It was too small, too wet, too slimy, too squelchy and the juices went everywhere in every which way. It slimed its way under his plating with almost practiced ease, the tiny soft yellow seeds easily lodging against sensitive sensor nodes as they were mercilessly pulled down by gravity.

The juices and bits of still intact solids continued to run down his hip to squirm across and around his main leg servo and then down, down, down to slowly coagulate in his unmoving knee joint. Sideswipe couldn't focus on anything else - that horrid, slick feeling consumed his entire attention. It soon felt as if the squished fruit wasn't just smothering his upper leg but his _entire_ left leg from the top of his hip plating to the very bottom of his tire. The feeling slowly started to devour every tactile node on his body starting with the rest of his pelvic region, down his right leg, slowly traveling up his chest, his arms, his door wings. Soon, every little nick and cranny on his frame was alight with that horrendous feeling. Even his _swords_ itched under the new sensation.

It was entirely too much for his processor to handle.

The humans, still engrossed in their immature game of throwing their lunch back and forth at each other, didn't see Sideswipe, hardened Autobot warrior and combat instructor, be brought down by a single, well placed tomato. They did, however, feel the shockwaves.

The multiple of soldiers ceased their mock attacks to stare in surprise at the suddenly prone Autobot figure sprawled out on the ground. Their stares turned from the offline mech to each other, lingering over the damning stains on their uniforms, to the gigantic mess they had made in their fight over who would win the next football game that Sunday. By a silent, unanimous decision amongst themselves, the soldiers quickly shouted out 'Not it!' and proceeded to trip over each other in their haste to reach an exit to disappear through.

When the lone unfortunate soldier last to leave the rec room timidly stepped into Ratchet's domain still covered from head to toe in mashed potatoes to tell the medic that something was wrong with the large silver one and that he was passed out on the floor and that, perhaps, he wouldn't kill him, please?, Ratchet's predictable booming tirade could be heard clear across the quiet desert.


	10. Bluestreak

All I have to say is this: Who knew cheesecake could inspire my finicky muses? *shrugs*

Once again, thank you all for your reviews and suggestions! They make my days that much brighter. :3

**Disclaimer:** "If only, if only," the caged Laserbeak sung.

* * *

Epps honestly didn't know what he had done to deserve this.

"--and then there's the question of how a train can be made entirely out of gravy! You would think that it wouldn't be able to support its weight seeing has how gravy isn't really a solid, but it isn't really a liquid, you know? It's caught in that in between phase, kinda like glass if you want to squint and look at it sideways, but it certainly wouldn't be able to stand up to the speeds that a regular steel and iron train can reach and then there's the question of how you would be able to get it moving in the first place--"

He didn't believe in past lives but if this kept up, he was ready to turn believer. He _must_ have done something in a past life to warrant this. Perhaps he had tried to pass off some of his paperwork onto an unsuspecting subordinate? Wait, he had tried to do just that last week. Epps would have gotten away with it to if it hadn't been for some of the unsuspecting subordinate's friends raising the alarm.

"--which makes me wonder how someone can be as cool as a cucumber, since, you know, one's body temperature would have to be around seventy degrees Fahrenheit, or twenty one point one degrees Celsius, to do so, but a human's body can't be lowered to that temperature without vital processes forcefully shutting down that result in early termination! That's just plain awful, really, and then there's--"

Epps was pretty sure it was a physically impossibility for someone to talk one's ear off. Epps was also pretty sure that this mech could accomplish just that if given only half an hour and half a chance. It was therefore unfortunate that the mech had seized a chance and that he had been listening to its looping prattle for a grand total of twenty-two minutes.

"--but there's also the question of how a cookie can be smart; that seems incredibly impossible! A cookie is nothing more than some flour and sugar and some other ingredients that I don't really remember at this time but none of those things can grant a food item intelligence. Or can they? I don't really know since I don't really know much about organics; you guys are certainly a whole lot different from ourselves and the other robotic and organic species we discovered while looking for the Allspark but even still you have to cook the cookie at some pretty high heat and you still have to--"

God, didn't these things every run out of breath? Oh, no, wait, they didn't since they didn't really 'breathe' in the first place. Something about internal fans and coolant lines and some other junk Ratchet had blathered on about when some curious on base physician had asked ages ago.

"--and wouldn't it be really painful to have an apple in your eye? I mean, I've seen some pictures of those fruits and they can get really, really big, especially when the weather has been just right and even the ones on the smaller side of the scale are much larger than a human eye! Why would you even want to have an apple in your eye anyway? I would think it would block out to much of your vision and get in the way and be a general nuisance, really--"

This was worse than when his second oldest daughter, Shaniqua, had started to gab on and on about that male lead actor for that up and coming vampire movie, Moonlight or whatever. However, that decidedly one-sided conversation had only last a blessed five minutes before his wife had called everyone together for dinner. Even today he still remembered what had saved him from his daughter and her newest love interest: pot roast and potatoes.

Mmmm…pot roast and potatoes…

…Crap, now he was hungry.

"--then how would you make a cup of Joe? Would that be considered cannibalism? But you're not really eating and or drinking another human, right? I mean, there are only so many Joes in the world and seeing as so many people down this 'Joe' stuff on a very regular basis, there wouldn't be enough Joes in the world to feed the demand of a single country! So a cup of Joe can't be a Joe since there just isn't enough Joes in the first place unless the cup stated isn't really one cup but more like one fourth of a cup--"

Epps was going to kill Will. He knew that this situation was somehow the Major's fault, never mind the fact that the said Major was currently on shore leave visiting his family stateside for the next two weeks. Will always did like to screw with him when he wasn't in throttling range.

"--and what exactly can you fit in the shell of a nut? And what kind of shell are they even talking about in the first place? Is it a peanut, walnut, chestnut, coconut, hazelnut, or some other nut? They really need to be more specific because while all of those shells are really, really small, except for the coconut, and they have different shapes and sizes which limit to what one can place in them. But why would you want to place something in a nutshell, anyway? It seems terrible--"

The thirty minute mark was fast approaching. If he wanted to keep his ear on his head, and his sanity at least somewhere in the near vicinity, he had to act now or forever be an earless psychotic.

"Bluestreak-"

"--how can someone have a carrot top as the top of their head? Does it have something to do with genetics or maybe some sort of parasitic reliance that happens at birth or maybe--"

"_Bluestreak-"_

"--and can you literally freeze someone's buns off? That would certainly be very painful and not at all something someone should do lightly and yet I hear about it all the time, especially in areas up north where there's snow and ice and what exactly are these 'buns' anyway--"

"**BLUESTREAK!"**

Bluestreak, startled from his rambles, choked off his vocalizer and glanced down at the human dully staring up at him. He opened his mouth to ask what was the matter but was silenced before he spoke by a hand coming up in a slow, but forceful, 'stop' gesture. A moment of (wonderful, beautiful, God-sent) silence passed before Epps dared to speak. He regretted it even as he asked.

"What, exactly, was it that you wanted it ask me again?"

The gray mech blinked, looked upwards as if searching his mind for what, indeed, had he come by to ask about in the first place, and then nodded to himself as he remembered. Epps steeled himself as the mech looked back down at him, all smiles and confusion.

"Why is the cake a lie?"


End file.
